


Guilt

by quietrook



Series: Moonchild [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen, Introspection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3872857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quietrook/pseuds/quietrook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andrew never forgot, and he never will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilt

He wakes up in a cold sweat night after night, chest aching with the reminder of how heavy his soul felt. He stares at the ceiling, breathing hard, begging for some power in the universe to erase the images from his mind of spilt blood and betrayed trust, clenching the sheets until his knuckles are far whiter than the linen. Moonlight pours into the room from half-closed blinds, and, shaking, he follows the pattern across the room. He's afraid of the shadows, knowing that what lurks there is only an inch better than the memories he can't escape even in his sleep. He turns to one side, then to the other; no position is comfortable. No position offers the security and comfort he so desperately needs after the dreams. He curls up into a ball, assuming the fetal position. His arms wrap around the pillow and he stifles his sobs in the pillowcase. He shakes, tries to focus on breathing instead of on the sounds that won't leave his mind.

The screams... the screams echo in his ears, his own. He's terrified again, trapped in the scene, watching himself from a distance. Watching his own voice growing hoarse until he breaks down and cries over the body of his one friend. The one person that trusted him with everything. The one person he had ever felt close to in reality, not just in his made up fantasy world where everything was okay.

Also to mind come the accusations.

"You never believed him. You were a coward."

That's what he runs from; that's the truth he can't face. Not the body, lying in the pit. Not the look on Jonathan's face as he died. Not the emptiness of the school that filled him up. Not the deaths they had caused, not the memories of Mexico, not his eagerness to please a Warren that no longer existed.

The truth was that he knew, the whole time. It wasn't Warren. It wouldn't make them gods. Jonathan wouldn't come back. He was a coward. Afraid of the pain Warren - whatever - would cause. Afraid of what would happen if he didn't obey. Afraid of being alone. Afraid of being weak.

Now the only thing Andrew was afraid of was closing his eyes once again.


End file.
